


Hold Me Close

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Childhood Trauma, Eventual Johnlock, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Grooming, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kid John, Kid Sherlock, Kidlock, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Grooming, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Teenlock, moriaty is wicked, teenage John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:21:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25787272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: 16-year-old John and 8-year-old Sherlock are sold to a sex-hungry, cruel owner named Jim Moriaty.
Relationships: Jim Moriarty/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 39





	Hold Me Close

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE:
> 
> I do not condone child rape or abuse.  
> Please heed the tags and do not read if you cannot handle the triggers.  
> Please leave a comment and kudos and subscribe!!!  
> -Jaci
> 
> The following chapters will probably not be so long :)

The two boys huddled in the corner of a dirty, rusted cage. The eldest, around sixteen years old, with a mop of dirty blond hair, had his arms wrapped around the youngest, who looked to be seven or eight. The child was severely malnourished and his black curls were long and uncut. His face was pressed against his companion’s chest. The elder one was stroking a hand through the curls, whispering soothing words. “Don’t worry Sherlock, it’ll be alright,” he murmured, trying to blink back his own tears. “Don’t cry, please.” He brushed the tears off the little boy’s grimy cheeks. 

“Jawn,” the younger boy sobbed, clinging to his companion’s shirt. “I don’t want to leave you! I don’t want them to take me away from you!” 

John’s heart hurt hearing the pain and fear in Sherlock’s tiny voice. Struggling to hold back sobs, he buried his nose in Sherlock’s dark curls. “I won’t let ‘em. I promise, ‘Lock.” 

At that moment, the cage was rattled violently and a scruffy man bent down, peering between the bars at the two boys. He fitted a rusty key into the large padlock and unlocked the cage, swinging the door open. “Come here, little bitches. Got a buyer for you and you better not ruin this or I’ll skin you.” He grabbed Sherlock by the curls and yanked the small boy out. John followed, scrambling to reach Sherlock. “Here’s the two bitches, sir. One of em’s sixteen if I calculate correctly and the other… I have no idea. He’s a baby though, crying all the time.” 

John, his arms around Sherlock, looked up into the cold dark eyes of a middle-aged man. The man looked down at them, his face expressionless. “That boy is old enough for sex,” he said, his voice low, gesturing to John. 

The scruffy man nodded. “Yeah, but he’s never been used….” He trailed off, grimacing and looked away. “Um… I will sell them to you for cheap. No one’s picked them up. They won’t separate from each other.” 

“I can’t believe that you would be so soft. These are merely slaves,” the dark-eyed man replied coldly. He grabbed John by the shoulder and turned him around. “Is he well-behaved? Trained in anything? He’s old enough to have a skill, am I right?” His fingers dug painfully into John’s shoulder and the boy tried not to wriggle away from the vise-like grip. 

“Yes, sir but… as far as I know, he’s never been trained in anything. They can’t get him away from this little slut,” the scruffy man replied, yanking on Sherlock’s curls. The little boy cried out in pain, causing John to tense up. “See? He’ll do anything to protect this bitch.” 

Without saying a word, the man turned John back around and grabbed him by the chin, turning his head side to side. John resisted the urge to look away from the man’s penetrating eyes, feeling very much like a horse being inspected. “This one is good-looking and he is of age. I will take him, I think. I do like breaking in new, untried slaves.” He smiled grimly and let go of John’s face. “How much is he?” 

Before the scruffy man could answer, Sherlock lunged forward and threw his scrawny arms around John’s waist. “Jawn! Jawn! P-Please don’t leave me! Don’t let ‘im take you ‘way!” he screamed, eyes full of utter terror. Wrapping his fist around the hem of John’s shirt, Sherlock tugged, howling like a wolf. “Don’t take Jawn away! I need ‘im!” 

“Come here, you little bitch,” the scruffy man growled, grabbing Sherlock around the neck and pulling him back. “Sorry about this, sir. I’ll put him away.” His large hand encircled Sherlock’s slender wrist and he began to drag the boy back to the cage. Sherlock, however, wouldn’t go without a fight. He clawed at his captor’s hand, lashing out with bare feet. 

John gritted his teeth, curling his hands into fists. “Please, don’t hurt him!” he cried, starting forward. 

“Stay there, boy,” Sherlock’s captor shouted back, trying to keep his hold on Sherlock. “Shit!” he exclaimed as his hand finally loosened from Sherlock’s wrist and the small boy darted away. “I’ll beat you, you fucking little-” 

“I think that will be quite enough,” the potential buyer said darkly. He intercepted Sherlock’s mad dash to John and held him at arms’ length away. “For such a little rat, it’s strong,” he muttered through gritted teeth. Sherlock fought in his grip, howling at the top of his lungs. The dark-eyed man raised his hand to strike Sherlock.

“No!” John screamed, lunging forward. “P-Please don’t hurt him!” He stretched out his hands, trying to grab his friend. The terrified look in Sherlock’s clear blue eyes was too much to bear. “Let him go, please, sir!” he cried, collapsing to his knees. “I beg you, he’s only a little boy! Don’t hurt him!” 

With a disgusted sigh, the man let his hand drop to his side and released Sherlock, who ran to John and immediately hid his face in John’s chest. John wrapped his arms around the trembling boy and waited, fearfully, for the punishment he was sure was going to follow his actions. Instead, the man shrugged and turned to the slave dealer. “How much is the little rat?”  
The other man raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You want to buy this little whore?” 

“I asked, how much is it?” 

“Oh, ahem, sir he’s going cheap… only 25. He’s not much use to me anyway. Gonna die probably. Practically skin and bones,” the dealer replied quickly. 

“I’ll give you 20,” the man said, taking out his wallet. “And how much is the older one?” 

“100. He’s cheap too but… he’s of more value.” The dealer smiled greedily as the buyer dropped a wad of bills into his hand. “The cage comes with them free, if you want it.” Grinning, he pocketed the money and motioned to John. “Get on your feet and stop his sniveling.” 

Trembling with fear, John got to his feet and Sherlock stretched out his arms to be held. He was so light that it was not too much for John-who was also weak, to carry him. Once he was settled on John’s hip, Sherlock laid his head on John’s shoulder and cried softly. “Shh, please, stop crying ‘Lock,” John urged. He did not want the men to change their minds and have Sherlock and him punished. 

“I don’t want the cage,” the buyer replied shortly. “I need their papers though.” 

“Oh, right.” 

Papers and handshakes were exchanged, then John and Sherlock’s new owner turned to them. He leaned down, his lips brushing John’s ear. “Don’t think for one moment that I have a soft heart because I bought the little rat. No… I have plans for both of you, my pretty pets.” He pressed a harsh kiss to John’s lips, biting them in the process, then pulled away. “Let’s go, darlings.” 

John, wincing in pain, pulled Sherlock closer and followed his owner, his heart pounding furiously in his chest.  
“I-I’m scared, Jawn,” Sherlock whispered, his curls brushing against John’s cheek. 

“I’m scared too, but I won’t let him hurt you,” John whispered back. 

At these words, Sherlock’s tiny body relaxed. 

He trusted John completely. His John would always be there for him.

John, however, did not relax. He bit his lip hard, blinking back tears. How he hated lying to Sherlock. 

******************************

Their new owner was rich. 

Richer than any owner John had had before. 

As they stepped out of the man’s sleek black car, John and Sherlock gazed up at the towering mansion before their eyes. It was made out of gleaming white marble, complete with large French windows. Blooming flower gardens and fountains were laid out neatly on the surrounding grounds. A few slaves, dressed in work clothes, were digging in the gardens. Some others were sweeping the large verandah. They all looked up as John, Sherlock, and their owner got out of the car. 

“Sandy!” the owner barked, causing all the slaves to jump. At his call, a young woman dropped her shovel and hurried over, her gaze cast on the ground. “Sandy, take these two boys down to the quarters and get them cleaned up. Then, take them to my office.” With a dismissive wave of his hand, he strode towards the house, leaving Sandy behind, staring at the two boys. 

“My name is Sandy,” Sandy said, awkwardly twisting her hands. Then she said no more. She just stood there, staring at them. 

“Hullo” Sherlock said quietly, letting go of John and reaching out to take Sandy's hand. 

A faint smile crossed Sandy’s face and she wrapped her fingers around Sherlock’s little hand. “That’s good,” she whispered, resting her other hand on top of Sherlock’s unruly curls. “Well, come with me… we ought to get you two cleaned up. I don’t suppose you’ve had a bath in quite a while.” She turned to John and offered him another ghost of a smile. “Are you two brothers?” 

John tried to smile back but his lips couldn’t form the shape. “In a way,” he replied quietly. Although this Sandy person seemed nice and harmless, John didn’t like the fact that Sherlock had warmed to her so quickly. He reached out and pulled Sherlock back, boring Sandy with a cold gaze. Sherlock squirmed in his grip for a few moments, then relaxed. “Shouldn’t we be doing what we were ordered to do?” John asked shortly. 

“Oh, right, of course,” Sandy stuttered, her face flushing. “Follow me.” She led them around the house to a gray-painted door. “This leads right to the slave’s quarters,” she said, opening the door. They entered a long, cool hall light by dim, flashing light bulbs. The air smelled dank and a little bit musty. Sherlock sneezed. Each side of the hall was lined with metal doors. “Those are the cells… I mean, the rooms….” Sandy paused in front of one of the doors and pushed buttons on the keypad beside it. There was a click and the door slid open, revealing a clean room with toilets and showers. “Here’s the washroom.” She went to the sinks and rummaged in the cupboards underneath, pulling out a pair of scissors. “You both need haircuts. The master likes things neat and tidy.” 

Sherlock’s blue eyes widened when he saw the scissors and hid his face behind John’s back. “N-No… I don’t want my hair cut!” he whimpered. 

“I-I’m really sorry,” John said quickly. “He doesn’t like scissors for some reason… won’t tell me why.”  
Sandy fingered the scissors, then set them down. “Maybe he’ll let you do it. He obviously trusts you more.” She leaned down and pulled out two towels from the cupboard. “Take these towels and go wash up. Just toss your dirty clothes on the floor. I’ll pick them up. When you’re done, I’ll bring you some fresh things.” She plopped the towels into John’s arms and gave Sherlock a small bar of soap. “Holler if you need anything.” 

John took Sherlock’s and walked over to one of the shower stalls. “Want me to help you?” he asked Sherlock, who had suddenly turned white. The little boy nodded and pressed his body against John’s. “Oh, god, Sherlock… What’s the matter?” John put his arm around the younger boy and brushed Sherlock’s curls out of his eyes. “What are you scared of?” 

“I don’t like the water,” Sherlock whimpered and John immediately knew the source of his fear. Many times before, the two boys had been blasted with freezing, ice-cold water as a punishment for some trivial crime they had committed. 

“I’ll check it,” John said, turning on the water. He held his fingers under the running water. “It’s warm, Sherlock. Here, come and feel.” He guided the smaller boy’s hand under the stream and watched as Sherlock visibly relaxed. “Okay, let’s get you cleaned up.” Carefully, he pulled off Sherlock’s ragged shirt and shorts and let them fall to a heap at their feet. “Oh god,” he breathed, running his fingers over Sherlock’s jutting ribs. The boy was severely malnourished, translucent skin stretched tightly over his white bones. 

“This feels good,” Sherlock murmured, reaching out his hands to catch some water. Giggling, he ducked as John attempted to rub soap into his grimy locks. 

“Hold still, please,” John grumbled, massaging the bubbles into Sherlock’s scalp. 

“Ouch!” Sherlock whined. “I can wash myself!”

“Of course you can,” John replied, letting go of Sherlock and starting to work on himself. “Hurry up, though.” 

A few moments later, the boys were clean and wrapped in the towels. John took Sherlock’s hand and they exited the shower to find Sandy sitting on the floor, looking forlorn. She jumped up when she saw them, and her face brightened. “You two look so much better. I can now see that there were two very handsome boys hiding underneath all that grim.” She picked up a stack of clothing and handed it to John. “Here are your uniforms. They should fit.” 

“Thank you,” John said. 

“I’ll leave you two to get dressed. I’m right outside the door if you need me.” Sandy waved weakly and exited the door, her bare feet making no sound on the cool tile floor. 

John unfolded the clothing and discovered two gray t-shirts and two sweatpants. The fabric was a thin cotton but of finer quality than anything he’d ever worn before. And, they smelled clean. He helped Sherlock dress, then got dressed himself. Sandy had left a comb sitting beside the sink and John attempted to brush out Sherlock’s tangled locks. “Now Sherlock, I’ve got to cut your hair. It’s long and… Sandy says the master wants things tidy,” he told the small boy, picking up the scissors. Indeed, Sherlock’s mass of black curls cascaded down to his shoulders in a tangled mess, left uncut for years. 

Sherlock studied his reflection in the mirror, his lower lip jutting out. “Don’t cut off my ears,” he whispered, clapping his hands over his ears. 

“What? Oh, don’t be stupid, Sherlock,” John exclaimed with a snort. “I won’t cut off your ears. Why do you think that I’ll cut off your ears?” 

The small boy shrugged his thin shoulders and lowered his gaze. “Just hurry up, please?” 

John was not experienced in cutting hair but he did his best. Soon, a pile of black curls sat at his feet and Sherlock looked more like the boy he was. Sherlock, his hands still tightly clamped over his ears, slowly opened his eyes and solemnly perceived himself in the mirror. “Well?” John asked, wincing at the uneven cut he’d made. “I’m clearly not a barber.” 

Sherlock snorted and picked up the scissors. “Time for you, Jawn.” 

“What? Oh… no, Sherlock. I can do my own hair, thank you,” John said, snatching the scissors out of the smaller boy’s hand just in time. 

Five minutes later, the boys were cleaned up, hair cut, and ready. As the uncertain moment of their meeting with their new owner approached, Sherlock became more apprehensive. He clung to John’s side, not even looking up when Sandy talked to him. John gripped Sherlock’s hand tightly, trying to quell his own fear. Sandy, however, did not seem to notice their sudden changes in demeanor. As she led them up a flight of cold, concrete stairs, she chattered constantly, her nervousness seemingly gone. 

“I don’t want to be whipped,” Sherlock said suddenly, interrupting Sandy’s passionate speech about flowers. 

Sandy looked startled, but quickly recovered. “Oh… well, you’ll only be whipped if you’ve been bad and you haven’t been bad. Don’t worry, child.” 

Sherlock was not comforted. “I don’t want to be fucked either.” 

For a moment, all was silent as John and Sandy stared at each other. Sandy’s blue eyes were a mixture of sorrow, anger and confusion. She knelt down and took Sherlock’s hands. “You can’t possibly know what being…. Being ‘fucked’ means,” she murmured softly, wincing at the usage of such vulgar language. 

Sherlock gazed back at her, blue eyes wide. “It hurt.” 

***********************************************

Sandy took them up to the main floor of the house, which was a bright contrast to the dull gray walls and metal doors of the basement below. The floors were made of gleaming white marble and the walls were lined with paintings framed with gold. Various plants in pots were arranged near the windows, soaking up the warm light that streamed in through the panes. Velvet curtains were pulled back with gold cord, ready to be drawn over the window at a moment’s notice. 

“It’s like a castle,” Sherlock breathed, letting go of John’s hand and starting forward.

Sandy put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t wander off,” she firmly told him. “Come this way.” She crossed the hall to a huge, oak door on the other side and put her hand on the gold knob. “Do whatever the master asks you to do. He is easily angered… and will not be so gentle even if you are children.” Pursing her lips, she looked down at Sherlock and sighed, noticing the stricken look on his face. “I’ll be outside waiting for you when you are done.” She rapped on the door and then opened it. 

John and Sherlock peered in, catching a glimpse of their owner sitting behind a large mahogany desk. He was on the phone and appeared to be quite upset for he was cursing every now and then under his breath. Looking up when the boys came in, he immediately slammed down the phone, letting out a deep sigh. “Well, that’s over. Come here, pets.” Standing up, he held out his hands in a friendly gesture. “You look much better.” 

“Thank you sir,” John replied, stiffly bowing. He nudged Sherlock to do the same. 

Their owner placed his large hand on Sherlock’s head and ruffled the boy’s black curls. “My name is Jim, pets, but you can call me ‘Master.’” He grinned, revealing rows of perfect, white teeth. Taking his hand off Sherlock’s curls, he gestured to his spacious office. “This is my world, pets, and this is your world now. I bought you not out of pity but because I saw something in you. Both of you are very attractive.” He leaned down, staring into John’s eyes. “I am lucky to have such attractive pets, aren’t I?” 

John swallowed hard. “Y-Yes sir,” he whispered. 

“You are sixteen now?” Without waiting for John’s answer, Jim continued, “You are of age for… for sexual work and I have big plans for you, my boy. My last bed slave… well, he sort of gave up….Anyway, you’re young and fresh and I do welcome a challenge. As for him…” Jim paused and looked down at Sherlock. “He must stay with the child slaves until he is old enough. Then, I shall make use of his pretty body.” 

John’s stomach clenched with fear and he opened his mouth, but no words came out. His mouth felt dry. He had gone numb all over. A bed slave? Was that what he was to become? Although he had never experienced any, he knew what horrors a bed slave went through. A bed slave was the lowest of all slaves, only serving the purpose of gratifying a master’s sexual desire. “B-But s-sir,” he began.

“Enough, boy. I don’t want to hear it. I am your master and you will obey me.” Jim sat back down behind his desk and folded his hands. “Don’t worry… I’ll be easy on you. After all, it’s going to be your first time being fucked, am I right?”

At these words, Sherlock burst into tears. “N-No! Don’t hurt Jawn!” he sobbed, flinging his thin arms around John’s waist. “I don’t want you to fuck him!” 

Jim raised an eyebrow. “Silence, rat, or I’ll have Sandy whip you.” He made a face. “Is he always such a whiny, clingy rat?” 

“He prefers to be near me at all times, sir,” John answered carefully. 

“Well, I won’t tolerate that kind of behavior. Look at me, boy, if you keep crying like this I’ll give you something to really cry about.” Jim ducked down and opened up a drawer, pulling out two black leather collars. “Come here at once,” he ordered, laying the collars on his desk. 

Both Sherlock and John stared at the collars. 

John swallowed hard. 

He felt Sherlock’s grip on him tighten.


End file.
